Many sources of life-race, rush and high, by excess, he had burned into exhaust. Drink and night-highs: when there became more shadow than light, shame than levity, he gave them up without fight or desire to return. Lust divorced from love, physical from spirit: he acknowledged after-absence, confronted inner-void. Killing, war, power: in the end, there was no reward, enduring purpose for any of it. Vanity of vanities; all were vanities; and in their dying away and after-life from excess, there remained revulsion and a sickened distaste for the way each undermined a soul. After, he wished only to be a “good” man—such’s meaning and definition left to each’s own soul searching.
He willed to love—words, acts, support, small encouragements—wishing and desiring best for all and caring little of himself. He’d measured his histories. God forgave, granted grace, mercy, and further chances. Why should we not do the same?
God’s love was free will; and in time, having tried, tested, and expired all the rest: he willed it back to God—however he wished use. To him, such was his path to Faith. He did not believe his path exceptional, but very much as way and means of many.
And yet, there was a draw thar never dulled or died of effecrt: to dare and look into another’s eyes, through a quiet or silence and living moment, and discerning to believe in the witness of a soul; and in the revelation, perhaps, our own too seen. A perilous affair indeed from which he never tired; affected, always, in beholding of the mystery.